


Risen

by BeaconHound



Series: Future King Series [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Future Fic, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-03-31 15:39:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13978230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaconHound/pseuds/BeaconHound
Summary: Merlin didn't know if it was possible for this Arthur to be made to remember his life before. But he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try.





	1. Chapter 1

Emyrs stopped beside the road to look out over the Isle of Avalon and the lake in whose depths lay he best friend and the _Once and Future King._

He sighed, and continued down the road, narrowly avoiding a splash kicked up by a passing truck. Kilgharrah must have been wrong, it had been countless lifetimes now, and there had been so many threats to Albion that if Arthur hadn’t returned by now perhaps he never would. He had been so sure during the two Great Wars, during the Blitz that had destroyed much of the country -and Merlin forced to use magic to protect the lake from the bombs-; that had to have been Albion’s greatest need and yet Arthur hadn’t come.

It was becoming clear that enchantments to keep him alive waiting was in actuality a curse. He hadn’t bothered making friends in at least a century. Every day he woke up, alive longer than anyone had a right to be, was a reminder what he’d lost and tried to hold onto.

He was dragged from his pity party when a football hit collided forcefully with his knee. He stepped on the ball to stop it rolling into traffic, and turned, expecting to see some children playing a field. He hadn’t realized that he’d been reveling in his loss long enough that he was now walking past the university football fields. Now there were about a half dozen athletes running at him to claim their ball for practice, led by the team captain.

“I’m so sorry, Sir,” King Arthur said, standing there dressed as a football captain.

Merlin probably should have tried harder not to stare when he tapped the ball with his toe so it rolled the short distance to Arthur.

“The names Marvin,” Merlin said, in a high rough voice, “and it’s quite alright young man. These things can happen.” Then he shuffled off back to his flat.

Over his many lifetimes, Merlin had amassed an incredible fortune, spaced out and hidden through dozens of bank accounts. The vast majority of the money he never touched, to his mind it wasn’t for him to use, just to hold for his king, it was originally Arthur’s anyway. 

A hundred or so years after Camlann, as Camelot had inevitably fallen, Merlin had gathered what remained in the castle treasury. It wasn’t much, at least not in comparison to the prosperity of Arthur’s reign. But he hid it away and after a few centuries, and the small stockpile had increased in value. When it became clear that public banking institutions were going to stick around Merlin spread out his reserve to hide it. Then it kept incurring interest and he’d have to spread it again, and again every few decades, into more banks, all around the world. Only the smallest of these accounts did he use for necessities: food, clothes, and a tiny flat in the town that had been built around Lake Avalon.

Once inside, with the door securely deadbolted, Merlin pulled an umbrella from its stand. He gave it a small shake and it refigured into Emrys’ staff, which he tapped twice on the ground, eyes flashing amber for the first time in decades.

Loose floorboards all over the room swung open, as if on hinges, and dozens of spellbooks lifted themselves from hiding to be stacked on a table. It took about an hour to find the potion he was looking for, and most of the evening to brew it. He really hoped this would work, the last time he’d used this the old age had been a disguise and he had actually been a young man underneath. He took one last look at the long white hair and beard in the mirror, then drank the whole potion in one swallow.

Slowly the beard diminished and the hair became shorter and darker. The lines on his face smoothed, his stiff joints loosened, and he felt stronger, younger.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin spent every day of the next week sitting on the grass beside the football field, with a book open on his lap, observing this new Arthur. This was the week before the general student population was due to move onto campus when the member of the school's teams settled in early and had the campus to themselves for practices and parties.

So far he’s learned that his name was, in fact, Arthur, having heard a number of the other players call his name during practice. He’d also noticed that this Arthur was remarkably similar to the young prince he’d been when Merlin had moved to Camelot. It was all too common that Arthur would ‘miss’ the net and send the ball soaring toward the boy carrying coolers of water to the benches.

That evening, when he was through pretending to read on sidelines, Merlin busied himself making preparation to pretend to attend the university. He’d disguised his spellbooks, outfitting them with covers that looked like gently used school books rather than the ancient texts they were. He packed some of them into a large trunk, deciding it best to keep the rest here in his flat. While he was deciding which books to take with him, clothes from his closet were arranging themselves into suitcases in his bedroom. He then enchanted all his packing so that it was light as a feather.

The next morning he left his flat- wearing a brown jacket and red scarf- and made his way to the campus that was now packed with students laden down with boxes and trunks of their own.

The football players, however, were already well into practice, and Merlin stood by, watching. In ten minutes Arthur’s foot had ‘slipped’ twice, sending the ball hurtling at the boy stacking the spares. The third time Merlin stepped forward, slowing the ball at the last moment to make it easy for him to snatch out of the air.

“C’mon now, that’s enough mate,” he said, “you’ve had your fun.”

“And you are?” Arthur scoffed, coming over, flanked by several teammates.

“Emerson,” Merlin decided was a good name, it sounded close enough to his other name that it would get his attention, besides he’d already used Marvin.

“Right, and how do we know each other.”

Merlin supposed he knew it was too much to hope that the similarities of these first meetings would cause Arthur to remember right away but still a part of him was disappointed. “I suppose we don’t.”

“So we’re not mates then.” Arthur snatched the ball from him and turned back to the field.

“I guess not,” Merlin called after him, “I could never be friends with such an ass.”

“Do you know who you’re talking too?” Arthur snapped, turning back to face him.

“Hmmm…. A prat?” Merlin shrugged, turning to get his trunk.

Then he heard it: a soft thump and a faint whistling of a soccer ball flying toward him. It was still second nature, after all these years; gold streaked across his eyes in the instant before the ball hit him and it was barely a tap. Still, he stumbled and fell forward, to a chorus of laughter behind him.

“Really, Arthur, grow up!” A girl scoffed, bending to help him up. “Sorry about him, I’m Jennifer.”

“I’m...uh... Emerson,” Merlin said, nearly jumping out of skin when he looked at the dark, curly, haired girl standing over him.

“I’ve known Arthur for ages, my brother is on the team with him, and he isn’t always like this,” she was saying. “He’s just under a lot of pressure here. His family's been major donors here for generations, that’s them,” she gestured over to Penton Residence Hall. “And his father was like one of the best football captains the school's ever seen. Anyway, are you alright? Do you need any help with anything?”

“I’ll be okay. If you could just point me in the direction of the registration office?”

“Sure, it’s right this way. I’ll walk with you. Want a hand with some of these?” She reached for the trunk but Merlin all but dove for it. The last thing he needed was for her to find out how light it was.

“I’ll manage this one,” he said, “if you want to give a hand with the suitcase?”

Jenn nodded, turning to the rolling case, so she missed Merlin’s eyes flashing as he returned the weight to the bag.

He’d parted ways with Jennifer at the door to the Administration Office and waited for the woman sitting at the desk to go get a coffee. He snatched a blank folder and some paper from his trunk and crept into the records room. He gathered a number of files of other students from around the room to create his own realistic records using the spell he’d used to try and give Lancelot a noble heritage. Once he’d forged acceptance letters, a transcript, and a fake schedule he had very little intention of sticking too, Merlin assigned himself to be Arthur Penton’s dormmate.

“That’ll do,” Merlin muttered to himself flipping through the folder, reviewing his work.

He went out to wait by the desk for the woman to return.

“Hello,” he smiled brightly when she came. “I’m here to check in.”

“Name?” She sounded bored like she’d been through this conversation a few times too many today.

“Emerson Martin.”

The woman looked through several stacks of full-sized envelopes she had on her desk then hummed quietly. “That’s odd, I don’t see your registration packet,” she said sliding down to her computer. “Please spell your name for me.”

“E-M-E-R-S-O-N M-A-R-T-I-N.”

'Zero Results Found' the monitor read. Merlin began to shift from foot to foot, appearing anxious. “Is everything alright?”

“Just give me one moment, let me check our hard records.”

Merlin grinned to himself when she’d left the room. If anything this technological age had made it easier for him to create false records. Any discrepancies were always chalked up to a ‘glitch in the system’.

“Here we are! Martin, Emmerson,” she smiled returning with his folder.

Merlin gave a relieved sigh and smiled brightly.

“I’ll have to take this down to data entry and have you re-entered into our systems. In the meantime, here is a copy of your class schedule. And let me find you a spare key to your room,” she disappeared through another door for a moment. “Here you are. You’ll be in Penton 5-65.”

When he opened the door to the dorm Merlin laughed at the mess he found inside, Arthur’s things were strewn everywhere. He had a feeling his life was about to feel very familiar.

“Not you!” He heard a voice groan from the door halfway through unpacking.

“This cannot be happening,” Merlin complained, turning to the door to see Arthur.

“No, absolutely not! This is unacceptable!” Arthur stormed off, presumably to request Merlin be moved to a different room. He wouldn’t have any luck though, Merlin saw to that during his time in the records room.

“Just stick to your side of the room,” Arthur scoffed, stomping back in twenty minutes later.

“I will if you do.” Merlin kicked a balled up pair of Arthur’s jeans so it slid across the floor, coming to a stop at the foot of his bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin didn’t see much of Arthur in the days leading up to the start of term, there was a chance Arthur was avoiding the dorm; however, as captain of the football team, it was Arthur’s job to lead all the practices and workouts, so he was also busy. But still even after all that he was only ever in the room to sleep late into the night, or just long enough to change his clothes and go out with his teammates. 

Merlin didn’t really mind the solitude, he was well accustomed to it by now. The problem was if he wasn’t around Arthur how could Merlin ever hope to recover the king’s memories. 

There were no practices or training of any kind the Sunday before classes began; with heavy rain falling ceaselessly outside Arthur spent the day in their room reading some of the books for his next days' classes. Merlin- after making the bed on his pristine side of the room- pretended to do the same. 

“ ’m going to get something to eat,” Arthur muttered absently, retrieving a fresh shirt from his dresser. 

“Whatever you say Highness,” Merlin scoffed when Arthur dropped his used shirt on the floor among the rest of his laundry. 

“What did you just call me?”

“Well clearly you must think you’re some kind of  _ prince _ with a  _ servant _ ,” Merlin tried to subtly emphasize words he’d hope would resonate with his Arthur, that he was still sure was in there somewhere. “Otherwise you’d put all of that,” he vaguely gestured at all the clothes on the floor, “in there,” and pointed at Arthur’s empty hamper in the corner. “And maybe you’d make your bed once and awhile.” Arthur just rolled his eyes and left, slamming the door behind him. 

It almost went without saying that Arthur had barely been gone ten minutes when Merlin’s eyes glowed and Arthur’s laundry lifted into the hamper and his bedclothes straightened themselves. 

A sopping wet Arthur stopped dead in the doorway, looking around the room. 

“Don’t get used to it,” Merlin grumbled. “I’m not your  _ servant.”  _ He bit his cheek against ‘anymore.’

“Thanks.”

A few hours later they both turned in early to be well rested for the next morning. 

**********************

Merlin crept out of the dorm at seven the next morning -two hours before he was supposed to be in his first class- and went down to the dining hall. 

He got himself one of those premeasured and sealed bowls of cereal and a juice then filled a take-out container with bacon and sausage, eggs, and a few slices of toast. He grabbed a drink tray when he got a second juice and coffee. 

Merlin entered the room as silently as he left half an hour ago, finding Arthur still asleep. After placing the food on Arthur’s desk he threw open the curtains, announcing, “Rise and shine, Arthur.”

“Bugger off, Emerson,” Arthur grumbled, burying his face in his pillow. “I intentionally don’t have class until ten so I can sleep.”

“Come on now,” Merlin said brightly, “is that any way to speak to the person who brought you breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” Arthur lifted his head slightly. 

“Peace offering, since we’ll be stuck with each other for a while.”

“What’s to eat?”

Merlin chuckled at this Arthur’s one track mind, just like his king’s. “Eggs,” Arthur lifted his head a little higher. “Sausage,” Arthur turned to look at him. “Bacon, coffe-“

“Did you say bacon?” Arthur pushed himself upright, blankets pooling around his waist, and apparently, Arthur slept shirtless. Merlin turned his attention to his wardrobe, feeling his ears warm with a rush of color.

Merlin opened his little cereal and picked at the pieces dry. 

“Is that all you’re going to eat?” Arthur asked, mouth already full of breakfast meats. Merlin just shrugged.

“See you later then,” Merlin said, grabbing some clothes and moving toward the door to go shower. “I have maths in an hour and I want to be early.” It was half a lie: according to the fake schedule he’d conjured Emerson would have a math class but he would not be going. There was only one course he intended to attend:  _ Introduction to Medieval Litterateur.  _ It was Monday’s and Friday’s at eleven o’clock. Until then he figured he’d hide out in the Library. 

*************************

Merlin arrived at Fey 403 at fifteen minutes to eleven, as the last class filed out, hurrying in to get a seat, claiming the second-row center desk. He was glad he had been early, as by 11:50 the lecture hall was rapidly filling. 

“Emerson!” A warm voice greeted by his left, Jennifer sinking into the seat there. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Merlin was still taken aback by this girls resemblance to Guinevere but he smiled warmly and made chit chat as every seat but the one to his right was taken. 

Gil, the broad dark haired TA, went around placing a syllabus on each desk and Merlin spared a glance at the top for a brief moment. 

Introduction to Medieval Litterateur 

Prof. Giles Ph.D

“This is some kind of cosmic joke.” Merlin turned at the sound of Arthur grumbling while he sank into the seat to Merlin’s right at 10:58. “Why are you even taking this class?”

“Oh be nice, Arthur,” Jenn scolded maternally. 

Arthur shrugged and began determinedly reading through his syllabus. 

At eleven o’clock exactly the hall door shut behind the entering professor, and Merlin’s jaw nearly fell off. Giles was older, with thin, shoulder-length, white hair, and one of his brows seemed as though it was perma-glued to his hairline. Long and short he was the spitting image of Gaius and Merlin could have laughed aloud. 

“Welcome to ‘Intro to Medieval Lit.’ I’m Professor Giles, and I hope you can all see and hear me clearly because as of right now you are stuck with the seat you’re in for the duration of the class.”

Jenn smiled happily at both boys, and on Merlin's other side Arthur groaned quietly. This had worked out better than Merlin dared to hope. 


	4. Chapter 4

It became evident to everyone in  _ Lit 130 _ that Emerson had an affinity for legends, and it made every competitive bone in Arthur’s body rear its prideful little head. He was never second best at anything, and he sure as hell didn’t want to start now. But what was he to do when he had nothing to contribute when his roommate started these lengthy debates about the old stories with Giles? 

This week had been about Morgan Le Fey. Everyone knew that the witch was the villain of Camelot’s tale. A ruthless, hateful, power-hungry sorceress bent on the destruction of King Arthur and his kingdom. But by the time the git was done talking he was practically convinced that she was to be pitied. That the vigor with which she attacked the legendary kingdom was based in an anger fueled by fear and isolation. That perhaps fate had set her on a course far from what it could have been if her powers had been rejoiced rather than spurned. 

Where did Emerson even come up with that? Arthur had read many tellings of Avalon, it’s king, and the Knights of the Round Table -it was even his Major- but nothing he’d ever come across shone the witch in such a light. But Professor Giles saw fit to deem it a profound understanding of characterization the ‘likes of which he’d not heard in his career at this university.’ 

It wasn’t that Arthur did poorly, his grades were superb; and if it weren’t for the insufferable, black-haired thorn in his side, he’d probably be best in the class. He just needed an edge, something to contribute to Emerson’s discussion. That’s how he found himself spending his Saturday morning on his laptop renting or buying everything off of the syllabus’ optional reading list. 

There was only one book left but he couldn’t find it anywhere. Nothing from the campus bookstore, or the library database. It had been a kind of surprising not to find it through Waterstones, and a complete shock when he’d spent twenty fruitless minutes clicking through Amazon. 

Arthur swore through gritted teeth. The noise making Emerson look up from some battered textbook he was looking through, eyebrow raised questioningly. But Arthur just shook his head and went back to furiously jamming at the keys. Then after a minute grumbled, “I can't find this book for Medieval Litt.”

“Which one?”

“This last one: ‘A Dragon’s Call: Two Great Destinies of Camelot.’ By M.E. Hunithson.”

The brunet leaned over to snatch the paper from Arthur’s bed and he caught a brief glimpse of the textbook on his lap. It didn't make any sense, what kind of font was that for a textbook anyway, and no word should not have that many consonances in a row. Then he sat back staring at the paper with some kind of look that Arthur couldn't understand. At first, he looked like he wanted to laugh, but there was something else in it that made Arthur think that he was really close to tears. Then the look was gone and the syllabus was shoved back at him with a shrug. 

“That's probably because it's been out of print for something like fifty years.” 

“What are you on about?” 

“It was this really different way of telling the story of Camelot, my favorite actually. But most literary historians disapproved of it, and its immense unpopularity caused publishers to pull it after only one edition. So it's quite rare.”

“How could you possibly know that? And how did you get to read it then?” 

“This… um. Well-I…” Dear God how could bumbling idiot possibly be outshining him in class. “An old friend of my mum’s, he's the one who taught me about all that stuff,” he gestured at the syllabus. “He had quite a book collection.”

“Don't suppose you could ask him to loan it to me?”

“Cause you and I are such great mates, yeah?”

“Oh come on! It's for class, and I bet you could do with a refresher reading of it. I really think it’ll help me in Giles’ class.”

“Pretty keen on your studies for a footballer,” Emerson deflected and Arthur wasn't sure he liked what the scrawny oaf was insinuating.

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well just that most I’ve met, present company included, are a bunch of dollop-heads.” 

Arthur's amusement and curiosity over the word struggled with his anger at being called it. But seeing as he had no idea what it meant anger quickly lost out. “That's not even a word,” he snorted.

“ ‘Course it is.” 

“Define ‘dollop-head.’” Something stirred in the pit of Arthur’s stomach but he ignored it. He'd grab lunch in a minute. 

“In two words?” Why was Emerson beaming like that? 

“Sure.” What was with this weird feeling of familiarity?

“Hmm… Captain Arthur!” Then, Emerson was roaring with laughter, so his textbook slid off his lap and onto the floor. Something pulled in the center of Arthur’s chest but he shook it off and chuckled at his roommate's amusement at his own joke, bending forward to grab the book off the floor to pass back across the room. 

He glanced at the pages again and frowned, that definitely was not English. When he looked up again Emerson was no longer laughing and instead was watching him very intently. 

“So what’s your major?” Arthur asked, trying to fill the weirdly tense silence. 

“I um… It’s...My…” Emerson was fumbling, looking at the book in Arthur’s hands. “Erm… I've majored in Occult Studies?”

Arthur felt his jaw go slack and his eyes widen in shock. 

“Not like trying to prove magic is real, or cast spells or anything like that,” Emerson said quickly. “It- it's more like… how the belief in magic affected cultures. My primary interest is its effect on the medieval era.”

“Oh,” was all Arthur could come up with as he passed the book back. “That sounds sort of interesting I guess.” He added after an awkward pause.

“What about you?” Emerson asked. “What's your major?”

“Medieval History and Culture,” Arthur mumbled, a little embarrassed, it wasn't really a typical major. “With a particular focus on Arthurian Legend. Hence Lit 130.”

“Surprising major for a dollop-head,” the dark-haired boy snarked, and Arthur just snorted at the ridiculous name.

“Yeah, well, the story of King Arthur kinda stuck with me when I was a kid. It’s weird I always felt kind of connected to it. I probably sound stupid, just cause my name’s Arthur too.” 

“Doesn't sound stupid to me at all.” 

“Anyway, my major seemed like a good way to look deeper into the stories, because as many times as I've read them, I also feel like I'm missing something big about them. But… No, actually I'm gonna shut up now.”

“But- lemme guess your parents think it's a weird major, right? Your father thinks it's a waste of time, that you should study something more lucrative. Maybe something like I dunno, business. But your mum even though she doesn't get it just wants you to be happy.” 

“Close enough,” Arthur said shortly, suddenly wanting this conversation to stop.

“You're upset,” Emerson said quickly. “I'm sorry. Did I say something?” 

Arthur briefly wondered how he’d read him so easily. “It's nothing,” he tried to wave off the young man's concerns. 

“It's not nothing. I have a huge mouth and whatever it is I said I'll probably say again like an idiot, and I'd really rather not do that.”

“Well you were spot on with what my dad thinks, but my mom died when I was just a baby. It's just me, my dad, and my half-sister.”

“Oh, gods!” God **_s_ ** ? “Arthur I'm so sorry! Me and my stupid mouth! I can't believ-”

“It's not like you could've known.” But still, Emerson looked so cross with himself. 

They sat in deafening silence for a while after that, neither really sure where to take the conversation from there. It was so quiet that Arthur jumped slightly when his phone chirped. When he glanced at it and saw the time he leaped up, forgetting he still had his laptop open on his knees. How Emerson managed to catch it was beyond him but he didn't have time to focus on that right now. 

“Shit! I'm going to be late for the first day of fencing!” He dove under his bed to grab his equipment bag. 

“You fence?” Emerson asked as he dashed to the door. Seriously the guy could be unbelievably thick! 

“No,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “I just keep a foil and set of pads under my bed for a laugh.” Then he took off down the hall. 

He'd have to remember about asking Emerson about borrowing that book again later. 

(He didn't.)

***************

On Friday, about a week after his talk with Arthur, Merlin was stopped by Giles on his way out of class. 

“Are you quite alright Mr. Martin?” He asked. “You’ve been unusually reserved this week.”

“Have I? Sorry Professor, just been a bit tired I guess,” Merlin lied easily. The truth was he’d been kicking himself all week about that stupid slip up, still was in fact. 

“Are you sure that’s all?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

For a moment it seemed that Merlin was not quite as convincing as he thought. Really how does anyone get their eyebrow to arch that high, it's ridiculous. But then the ‘older’ -though he wasn’t really was he, there was no one on earth older than Merlin- gave a curt nod and slight wave toward the door.

Merlin made his way to the dining hall to buy lunch, nothing special really: a roast beef sandwich that had probably been in the cooler just this side of too long, a bag of crisps, and bottled water. He was thinking it might be nice to take a walk down to the lake and eat on it shores when the woman cashing him out said, “I think someone is trying to get you attention dear,” and pointed toward the sea of tables. Merlin looked up hearing a shout of ‘Emerson’ to see Arthur summoning him over with a wave of his hand. 

He thanked the woman at the till with a smile then made his way over, weighing if it would make things better or worse to apologize to Arthur again for his slip. But those thoughts were put on hold once he got a good look at where the king’s doppelganger was sitting. 

It was a rather large circular table near the center of the room and around it sat Jenn and some of the other football players on the team with Arthur. Players that Merlin seemed to not have gotten a good look at when he’d been hanging around practices or he’d have noticed-  He was distracted from his shock by a slight bump to his knees and looked down to see that Arthur had kicked the empty chair to his left out from table, in offer to him. 

“I must’ve called your name like four or five times,” Arthur was half complaining, picking at some chips on his plate, with a half-finished burger. “I was starting to wonder if you were going prematurely deaf.”

“Didn’t occur to you then that I could have been ignoring you?” Merlin said with a roll of his eyes. Though honestly he’d just sort of momentarily forgotten that he was supposed to be responding to the name Emerson now.

“Right,” the blond scoffed. “Anyway, guys,” Jenn cleared her throat, “and girl, this is my roommate Emerson.” He jerked his thumb at Merlin, and there were a few noncommittal murmurs of greeting. “Emerson you know Jenn of course,” he gestured to where she was sitting on his other side and Merlin received a warm smile and a wave. 

“Next to her,” Arthur continued, “is Lance, our defensive midfielder.” Merlin choked on a sip of water he’d been taking, earning him a slap on the back from the bloke to his left. Of course, that was the name of the tan skinned, dark-haired, guy who couldn’t keep his eyes off Jennifer. He really should stop being surprised by all the parallels after Jenn and Giles, but still, he thought he’d hold off on eating or drinking anymore until after the rest of the introductions.

Arthur continued around the table, introducing each person along with the position they played. Each, in turn, gave Merlin a polite nod or small wave. 

Next to Lance was Elliot: left back and Jenn’s brother. Then, came the sweeper with curly ginger locks; Leo. The massive goalkeeper was, unsurprisingly, Percy. Which brought them to the guy who’d clapped Merlin on the back when he’d nearly drowned himself. Shaggy-haired, scruffy faced, forward, Dwayne.

Merlin worked very hard not to laugh. He supposed fate had a really hard time with Gwaine’s name. 

“I say he plays forward,” Arthur said, “but what he really does is show up to practice late, sometimes hungover, argue with the refs and flirts shamelessly with  _ everyone _ who walks past the field. But somehow he always manages to pull it together for the matches and we probably couldn’t do it without him.” Merlin thought that sounded about right for Gwaine. 

“Of course you couldn’t do it without me, I’m invaluable,” Gw- Dwayne stated with a nod. 

“It nice to meet you all,” Merlin said, lifting a chip off Arthur’s plate. 

“Oy!” Arthur yelled. 

“Well it’s not exactly like you  _ need  _ it,” Merlin teased looking Arthur over and boosting another chip. “I mean your fencing pads did seem a bit snug I’m just saying.”

“Are you suggesting I’m fat?!” Arthur pouted. 

Dwayne- Gwaine?- No Merlin should probably get used to calling him Dwayne or he might say the wrong one sometime. Dwayne was shaking with laughter. “Uh-oh Em, I think you hurt the princess’ feelings.” 

“Bite me,” Arthur shot, though there was no real heat in his voice.  

Merlin popped his bag of crips and held the opened end to Arthur. “Truce?” 

The blond reached in and drew his hand back with half the bag clutched in his fist. “Truce.” He nodded. 

Merlin retaliated by snatching one last fry, which prompted laughs from all around the table. 

Just like that Merlin was accepted into this echo of the Round Table. 


End file.
